Chapter Text
There is an angel in the Watchmaker manor.
No, not the Halovian wife, Sunday. This one is securely locked away behind bars of gold, only let out when no others were near.
Yanqing had stumbled upon him one night, when the alliance meeting with the Xianzhou had gone on too long and he had been sent away because he was too young and needed some rest. The winding hallways were nothing like the open-air pagoda that he was used too at the Xianzhou, each turn similar to the last one to the one before that. Quite lost and exhausted, he had made it into the garden when the image in front of him stopped him.
Because it was a creature of such beauty and otherworldliness that he felt compelled to fall to his knees.
Well, really, he had fallen to his knees because he had trip oh so gracefully over nothing and landed face first in the dirt.
It hadn’t been his most majestic way of first meeting Misha, his face covered in dirt and mortified apologies when the younger boy had helped him stand and asked if he was alright. He had taken one look at the beautiful, cherubic face, said something that might’ve been his name, and turned and bolted like the coward he was.
Jing Yuan had laughed for a solid ten minutes when he had told him what had transpired.
“I expect good things then, when the time comes for you to court him, which I know you will do,” the general had said teasingly, but there was a thread of something in his voice that Yanqing knew was the truth.
And damn him, it was.
At twenty, he watches as the beautiful young creature reaches adulthood and has to hold himself back from rushing to the manor and getting down on one knee. Be patient, his father figure had said laughingly when he had first told him of his infatuation. Nothing can come from a flower that blooms too early except wilted petals.
Oh, he has waited. He has been patient, because he wants their flower to bloom and remain eternal. He wants flushed cheeks and glittering eyes, morning strolls and midnight snack runs…and dark tumbles through silk sheets, bruises pressed by his mouth against the pale skin.
He wonders how those milky thighs will feel wrapped around his—
Yanqing shakes his head to dispel the lead thoughts that trickle into his young mind like a parasite. The beauty is barely eighteen, but his short height and slim figure make him appear younger than he is, and it feels almost wrong to think of him in such a way even though Yanqing has pined away quietly for years.
They’ve spoken all but a handful of words to each other, usually at a meeting between alliances, where the young boy trips over his own feet and flushes something fierce. It’s possible Misha doesn’t even know his name, but he has to remain hopeful, for hesitance could cost him the chance.
Now with the older brother Caelus firmly folded into the Xianzhou by engagement to the illustrious Dan Heng, he hopes it will make their future encounters easier. Caelus has made the information gatherer wait for a few years since accepting his notice of intention, wanting to experience life without a shackle of marriage to bind him to the Xianzhou name just yet, but had recently given the go ahead to start the marriage preparations.
And Caelus, knowing of his feelings towards his younger brother, takes great pleasure in teasing him.
“We’ll be brother-in-laws,” the older man chirps as he pats his head, despite the fact Yanqing is taller than him. “So you best treat my little brother right, or else I’ll erase you from existence.”
Knowing as he does about the secret of Caelus’ Aeonhood, Yanqing doesn’t take the threat as light joking.
“That’s only if my notice is deemed worthy,” he reminds the older man as they shuffle along through the Xianzhou gardens, a replacement for Dan Heng who is away on business. Caelus has woven his arm through his, keeping him trapped as they speak of the delicate matter.
The Aeon masquerading as a human snorts indelicately. “I told you I would put in a good word for you. Besides, of all the people I would want my brother to have to protect him, you would be at the top of the list.”
It really shouldn’t warm his cheeks and make his heart flutter, but it does, and he turns his head away shyly as Caelus grins knowingly up at him. Still, the words nestle deep in his heart, whispered in his ears by a phantom as he wanders back to his room and looks at the thing that will put all of this into motion.
His notice of intention lays written out on his desk, the official seal of the Xianzhou sealing it tight in its red envelope. Just looking at it makes him want to burn it and pretend he had never written it, but that would make him a coward, and his guardian hadn’t raised him to back down from a challenge. And if he waited, then the beautiful creature could belong to someone else. He is not close with other young men his age, so he does not know who else might have similar intentions, but with the help from the general and the information broker of the Xianzhou, his notice has nothing but the best qualities one could hope for.
And, he thinks blushingly, a small haiku that makes him think of the pale haired beauty. Something personal to get past all the political and the inflation of his character.
He sends it off with the knowledge it might not be accepted and doesn’t try to dwell on it.
But it’s Caelus who catches him in the hallways one day later, pinching his cheek and telling him what a good choice he is, and how he will put in the best word he can for him. Yet it’s still surprising when the general calls him in to tell him that it was accepted.
“I’m proud that two of my Family have a keen eye for beauty…and for others in the Watchmaker household,” Jing Yuan jokes. “Your hopeful intended will be here tomorrow with his guardians to meet and discuss a possible match, if you are available.”
He blinks, trying to sparse out the words to see if they ring true, and Jing Yuan waits patiently for that light bulb to spark to life over his head. It takes a moment, but Yanqing says haltingly, “It was…accepted?”
“Indeed, on a probationary basis. No doubt your deeds and importance to the Xianzhou, along with some meddling from Caelus, has helped in the process, but they would like to meet you in person to see if the match is compatible. Unless,” and here the slyness creeps through, the deep voice dropping to a rolling purr that Yanqing knows to bring about trouble, “we can storm their walls and capture your intended, willingly or not.”
And Yanqing can see the novels written by the Watchmaker head stacked neatly on the desk, all tawdry covers and barely clad young men decorating their front as some barbarian of a man tosses a young thing over their shoulders. Old men and their trash taste in novels. He sighs, amusement making him smile as he shakes his head.
“I appreciate your willingness to go to war for me, but this is a battle that must be won based on our computability. I do not want to incur the wrath of the Watchmaker Family, nor do I want the one I want to fear me or submit to me because they have no other choice.”
It must be the right answer, because the dark look in Jing Yuan’s eyes disperses, and his smile is soft with fatherly affection.
“Love is much better without fear,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”
Yanqing feels himself inflate a little at the praise. Him, an orphan of little value that had been found on the streets, being seen as worthy of the general of the Xianzhou’s praise? It was the stuff of dreams, and here he was, living it. All he needed was the object of his affection by his side.
A date is set, and for the weeks that follow there is only a sense of peace he carries.
Until the actual day arrives, and that is when the nerves set in.
He has to work out his anticipation somehow from where it boils under his skin.
He takes to the training garden, sword in his hand and his heart in his throat, and goes through so many grueling forms that by the time the sun hangs low in the sky his arms feel ready to fall off. He strips his arms from his shirt, letting it hang around his waist to circulate air flow around his overheated body. The water he grabs is lukewarm and unpleasant in its temperature, but it soothes the thirst that has built up in his throat, and he pours some over his head to disperse the sweat gathered there.
Just a few more, he thinks as he makes note of the time. Just a few more, then it was time for a shower and to look presentable.
He lifts the sword over his head, closing his eyes as his steps are sure and confident, the gentle song of the sword as it slashes through the air an old companion. His footwork is light as he dances with the deadly tune, slashing and spinning, hair a banner of victory as it flies behind him from its high ponytail.
The form ends with him perched on one foot, sword arched above him as he breathes evenly despite the cooling sweat he can feel along his brow.
“You’re so cool!”
Yanqing pauses at the soft voice that drifts over his quiet breaths of exertion, and he looks over to the raised platform that leads back inside – only to bite his tongue as he sees the lovely vision of Misha standing there, admiration in his eyes and a smile on his face. But then his eyes drift lower, to the miles of bare leg encased in shorts that can’t possibly be legal.
Was that a strap around his thigh?!
Yanqing feels his face heat. Had his guardians let him out of the house looking like that? It was indecent!
…and absolutely arousing.
Yanqing is grateful for the loose training pants he had chosen, which hide his appreciation of the shorts.
He swallows the words that gather in his that taste like ‘oh god please marry me’ and instead manages to get out, “Oh, uh, thanks. I wasn’t expecting an audience today.”
“Ah,” and here the soft cheeks flush, and Misha looks away shyly. “I’m to meet a potential suitor here. I sorta got lost and stumbled upon you. Sorry if I interrupted you.”
“I was almost done. I can guide you back inside if you want.”
Somehow, the cheeks deepen in color. “Sure, but I was here with my big brother and he saw Dan Heng and kinda…well, nothing decent happened, so I escaped.”
Knowing of the infatuation between the two, Yanqing would’ve ran away as well. There was only so much pheromone he could take before it affected him.
He chuckles, the sound rough. “They are well known for their affection for one another.”
“…They looked like they were about to consume each other. Is that how it normally is between couples?”
No, Yanqing means to say, but the hazy fantasies enacted by him and Misha float through his mind's eye, and with his mouth taken over by desire, he blurts out, “Yes.”
“Oh.” Misha looks down, tenderly shy as he toes at the wood under his feet. “It’s very…intense. Even Maman and Papa are like that, but I didn’t think it was supposed to be like that for everyone.”
“I’m sure it depends on the partner.” Setting aside his wooden practice sword, Yanqing wipes the sweat from his brow. “If you’re with someone who does not ignite that feeling in you, then you will not act the same. Would you like me to walk you back?”
“Oh, um, I would appreciate tha—ah!”
The young man trips over nothing, and Yanqing’s reflexes are quick to reach out and catch the falling body. How it happens, Yanqing doesn’t know, but the slim body ends up in his arms bridal style, violet eyes squeezed tight as if to wait for impact. But when that impact doesn’t come, Misha tentatively peels one eye open, followed by the other as he sees what stopped his fall.
Violet meets warm amber.
Yanqing almost drops him from the shock of it. But the body is so light and warm that he unintentionally grips it tighter, the arm he has anchored under pale knees feeling the bare skin and making his hand grope the thick thigh that is exposed by the shorts the young man wears. It doesn’t help that Misha’s hand is pressed to his own bare chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart as Yanqing’s mind catches up with current events and the position they are in.
He is quick to right the young man to his feet, but the young man is like a newborn fawn, and trembles against him as his knees give out.
Yanqing is shirtless and sweaty, hands wrapped around the absolutely tiny waist while his knee is pressed between the milky thighs he has dreams (nightmares) about. It’s indecent, it’s obscene – it’s also the best thing to ever happen to him.
“A-are you alright?”
Misha nods, eyes wide as Yanqing rights them. “Y-yes, thank you!”
But Misha adjusts his leg, brushing against the thing Yanqing keeps hidden, and both of them flush.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“Ah, it’s alright!”
But Misha doesn’t move away, and Yanqing doesn’t let go despite the profuse apologies that pour out of the both of them. It should be mortifying that Misha can feel his erection, put there by his training and unreleased energy, but he can’t help but grind forth just a little to feel more of the delicious pressure the petite figure gives to him. Like a mindless dog, he feels like he is humping the leg of his innocent owner, unable to stifle the gasp even when he bites his lip.
Misha is frozen in his arms, eyes wide and mouth silent, and Yanqing feels terrible, knows that the idea of a stranger using your body must be disgusting—
The small body in his arms subtly shifts, round cheeks aflame as it shakily grinds against him in return. Shy but determined eyes look up at him, a strength there that makes Yanqing remember that this slight creature in his arms is part of a powerful Family. Soft lambskin might cover his body, but underneath the softness was a spine of woven steel and a mind of a beartrap.
He wants to give into the idea, to drag the beautiful creature to the nearest closet and have his wicked way with him, but Misha deserves better than that. He himself deserves better than that. He wants it where they both know each other’s names, because at this point Misha doesn’t know him as the man who had sent the notice of intention, and he wants to see those beautiful eyes widen in recognition, to see cheeks flush.
The idea itself is so deliciously powerful that it is the cure to help him pull away, clearing his throat as he gently uses his hands to push against Misha’s shoulders to separate them.
Yanqing clears his throat and closes his eyes. “We should…get you back. Your Family must be waiting.”
He calls over a wandering maid and deposits the delicate load of responsibility onto her shoulders before he makes his cowardly escape. In the safety of his room, he doesn’t even have the sense to strip off his clothes before he shoves a hand underneath his baggy training pants. He is achingly hard, and he squeezes the base to stave off the pleasure that builds at the mere remnants of smell that still cling to him from where Misha had fallen into his arms.
Aeons, just a brief touch and this is how his body reacted? He doesn’t think he can survive basic handholding at this point. Where had his well-known ironclad control gone? Most speculation about him was often whispered among the cleaning staff, about how rigid and unbending he was, too serious for someone so young, and how they felt sympathy for any of his future partners. A kind man, yes, but one who seemed too involved in his job to take care of a partner.
Well, Yanqing thinks dryly as he looks down at his, ahem, big problem, he certainly wasn’t as unfeeling as others seemed to think.
He wills it to behave as he gets ready, and while the cold shower dulls his ardor, he can feel the simmer of anticipation in his veins that does not help him as he smooths down his tunic and makes sure his hair is perfectly in place. Already a brief taste of interaction, and he’s ready to get down on one knee.
It’s so over for him, this he knows, but his blank mask is perfect as he reaches the meeting room. And maybe for others they would look at him and expect no less, that he was only doing this to strengthen their ties to the Watchmaker Family, but when the general looks over to him and gives him a knowing look, it makes his mask crack just the tiniest bit as he lets out a sheepish smile.
Jing Yuan comes closer and smacks a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Good.” The general gives him one more tap, squeezing his shoulder as he gestures over to the maid that waits at the door. “Bring them in.”
For all of the reputation the Watchmaker Family has for being powerful and intimidating, they are a riot of noise and color as they are led into the room. The Family head is suspiciously missing, the scruffy man replaced with the fine elegance of the Halovian lover who leads in his two charges with quiet refinement. Behind him, however, Caelus is an octopus that teases and provokes the youngest of them all, who hurriedly whispers to the twilight haired man to let him go.
Misha looks up from Caelus' arms and meets his gaze. Yanqing has a front row seat to how his cheeks flush as he recognizes him, sees how his light eyes flicker down to his pants before flittering back up nervously.
“Nice to meet you,” is the shy answer that is somehow more endearing.
And Yanqing, trained by the general from a young age, gives a bow as he picks up his hand to press a kiss to the back of it.
Over the sound of Jing Yuan giving a low whistle of appreciation, Yanqing says, “It is an honor that you have chosen to meet with me.”
Flushing all shades of pink, Misha nods. The sight is as delicious as he hoped it would be, now that there is no secrecy between them. As tempting as it would’ve been to have kept his identity a secret, he wants to show Misha he means this as a forever thing, not as some one time bit of pleasure. He wants Misha to know that he sees him more than a vessel for pleasure to fill up and discard.
He rubs his thumb over the back of the hand, over the area where he had kissed, before slowly letting go, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
“Welcome, Watchmaker Family,” the general starts, slapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Thank you for coming today to discuss the notice of intention my young ward has put forth. I admit, I did not think him so easily swayed, but I can see your young Misha has poisoned my ward with his beauty.”
Sunday stands straighter, pride pouring off of him as he sets a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Why be a poison when it can be a remedy? Why not another bridge between our two Families to strengthen the singular pillar that already exists?” He gestures to Caelus, who is busy making eyes at his dark-haired lover. “In many ways I am still unsure of this notice, for in my folly I still think of Misha as a young child. But he is an adult now, and I fear there are worse people out there who will come forth with their own intentions. Please, allow them to sit together in privacy while we speak.”
“I am in agreement with that.” Jing Yuan turns to him, glimmering amusement in his eyes as he gestures. “Take your intended and get to know him, Yanqing. See if this is something you two can see through to the end.”
Yanqing nods, pulling from the general’s touch and holding his hand out to the smaller creature, who stares at it uncomprehendingly. But the touch to his hand is gentle as Misha reaches out, and Yanqing carefully pulls closer before he leads him out of the room. The young man is silent and meek, head ducked low past hunched shoulders, and it doesn’t feel like a good start.
No doubt he had frightened him with his ardor in the courtyard. What person could look at a stranger who willingly pressed their hard cock against them and think they weren’t a pervert? Misha must have fallen into the act himself unconsciously.
Down a corridor and into a more private area restricted to only high ranking Family members, he turns to apologize. But whatever words he conjures dies as he is met with closed eyes and a closed mouth kiss to his mouth. Misha, standing on his toes, lowers himself as he peels his eyes open slowly.
Yanqing feels his mouth move uselessly, caught off guard so radically that he can hear a faint sound of a computer rebooting in his head while also trying to connect to the internet in an annoying dial-up tone.
Out of the two of them, Misha is the first to speak.
“Um, should I have done that?” he asks hesitantly, hands coming to tightly clasp together. “Or was it too fast?”
Too fast? They had grinded a mere hour ago when they had been complete strangers, but a simple kiss that involved no tongue or teeth was too fast?
Yanqing is so blindingly in love that his vision blurs.
“No,” he croaks out, rubbing a hand across his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, not at all. I…enjoyed it even if I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Oh. Okay.”
They stare at each other for a single moment, and when Yanqing blinks, they’re somehow wrapped up in each other, the small mouth under his whimpering as he licks inside and dominates it fully. Misha clings to him, knees weak and body alive as Yanqing can feel it press tight to his, seeking affection. And he is all too willing to give, the cracked dam of his self-control breaking and flooding his chest.
Yet when a hand slides down his chest to touch his embroidered belt and tug at it, he pauses. Pulls away from the cherry red mouth and looks down at the dazed face.
“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” When Yanqing is unable to answer, brain still lost in the vicinity of his groin, Misha continues. “That you’re like this.”
This is a very telling press of a palm against his cock. It twitches back in greeting.
“Maman told me the way to a man's heart was through his, um, cock,” Misha squeaks out, cheeks a violent shade of pink as he bites his lip.
And before Yanqing can think to correct him, Misha gets on his knees and looks up at him imploringly. He’s frozen as he watches pale, slim hands reach for the bindings of his pants, drawing them down and bringing his leaking erection out into the open. His hands are petite as Misha takes hold, giving it a delicate stroke.
It must be a dream, he thinks as a small tongue reaches out to lick over the wet slit. Surely, he would wake up at any moment—!
He doesn’t want to wake up, he thinks deliriously as the tiny mouth opens and suckles at his cock. No, he wants to stay in this dreamscape forever, put into a coma so that the warm and wet mouth never leaves him.
Somehow the tiny mouth opens enough for Misha to take him halfway, small hands pressing to his sharp hipbones and holding tight as he bobs back and forth, an inch more of cock conquered as it disappears into the molten mouth with each rocking movement. Small but determined, Misha swallows around every inch of skin that descends into his throat until the entirely of his cock is down the slim throat.
Misha whimpers from where his nose is pressed against the coarse hair that surrounds the base of his cock, wet eyes hazed in pleasure as he swallows around the cock. Yanqing has to hold himself back from thrusting up into the warm throat, nails digging into the wall behind him. He doesn’t want to hurt Misha, would consider it a black mark against his honor, but his knees shake as the darling creature on his knees slowly starts to move his head.
This was no human – it was a lustful beast.
It isn’t particularly skillful, but it makes this act more erotic to Yanqing when he sees the spit that drips from a wet chin and plops down to shaking thighs. Soft hands hold tight to his thighs now, nails digging into muscle gently as Misha uses it as a means of balance as he bobs his head up and down. He knows from his own intelligence that Misha has never taken a lover previously, and he is delirious with the lack of knowledge of why Misha would attempt this.
…but he hopes it’s because he’s wanted in return.
He tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, breath tight in his throat as he closes his eyes and surrenders to the feeling. Despite the clumsy attempts, it is the best thing Yanqing has ever felt. He has enough experience to know what it is supposed to feel like, but this transcends all previous encounters.
“Misha,” he pleads as he feels the edge of his orgasm approaching. “You have to move. I’m going to—”
But the hands on his hips tighten, nails digging in almost threateningly as teary eyes glare up at him in defiance.
Come in my mouth are the unheard words, but it’s all Yanqing can hear. And he is weak to the siren song, giving in and closing his eyes as he finally reaches the peak of pleasure. Misha swallows around him, and when he can finally peel his eyes open and look down, Yanqing can see the trails of pearls that drip from his chin and drop onto his plush thighs.
He gathers up the weak-kneed beast into his arms, supporting him as he kisses him, tastes the bittersweet release of himself on the kittenish tongue.
“Let me return the favor, bǎo bèi,” he whispers against the slack and gasping mouth.
His hand is quick as it undoes the button of the ridiculous shorts and slides down baby soft skin and downy hair to grip the source of Misha’s pleasure. The young man falls against his shoulder with a cry, hips humping erratically as Yanqing strokes him. Yanqing presses a kiss to his hair, murmuring comforting words of praise as his other hand sneaks down the back of Misha’s shorts and presses a dry finger to the tight furl hidden between pert cheeks.
Misha arches, going onto tiptoe as Yanqing rubs at the untouched area. Oh, he is so desperate to see it, wonder how pink it is, how it would taste. So desperate, in fact, that his body moves before his mind can catch up, and when he blinks, he sees Misha’s hands pressed against the wall, the tiny waist in his hands as shorts fall to the floor, and a cherry pink hole twitching up at him. Sweat beads along his forehead, but he can’t stop himself as he falls to his knees, hands finding purchase on the rounded cheeks of Misha’s ass as he spreads them apart. He blows on it teasingly, and when Misha tries to muffle his gasp, he gives it a broad lick instead.
The small body trembles under his ministrations. It feels so fragile under his hands, but there’s a dark urge to leave behind bruises from his fingertips that hold tightly to the pale skin, to see them as a mark that he had been where no other had yet gone. He wants Misha to touch them later and press down into the dark spots, to bully them into staying longer.
He wants Misha to want him.
The thought splinters and fractures, digging deep into his restraint and burrowing under the skin. Everything screams at him about restraint and patience, but he can’t understand it when his head is filled with fog and lust as he bullies his tongue inside, a finger fitting in alongside it. Yanqing himself was only learned by the brothels that had raised him, a child peeking between screens curiously, wondering why one of his many mothers or brothers were gasping or screaming or bouncing on some man’s cock. And under the general’s guidance as he grew older and left behind the world of neon lights, he had learned that they were sounds of pleasure, that two male bodies fit as well as a male and a female.
He takes his sinful knowledge and applies it now, thumbs pulling apart the furled muscle and giving him enough of an opening to bully the tip of his tongue inside. He can feel the hiccup of breath that Misha takes as opposed to hearing it, how the body clenches unconsciously over the intrusion of his tongue. The virgin entrance is lined with silk, a welcoming suction that beckons him deeper inside.
But his tongue can only go so far, and his finger pushes in alongside it to press around until—
Misha jerks and cries out, and Yanqing wonders if the young man can feel the smile that spreads across his lips as his finger presses unerringly against the newly found prostate. Hip rock back into his touch, and he slides his hand up a smooth thigh to circle around to the leaking cock to take it in a light hold as he strokes it.
It doesn’t take long for Misha to cum, unlearned as he is in the act of pleasure, and Yanqing settles him in his lap and licks his soiled hand in front of wide eyes. Hand clean of the evidence of their passion, Yanqing does his best to straighten their clothes and smooth down their hair back to some semblance of normal even if there’s nothing more he wants to do than to drag the beautiful creature into his rooms for another round. Their absence, however, will be noticeable, and he gently grasps Misha’s hand in his and leads him back.
They are silent, but Misha presses to his side heavily, leaning his head on his shoulder as they walk through the many halls and towards the meeting room. Before they enter the large doors, Yanqing stops to press a kiss to the top of Misha’s head.
“The choice is yours,” he says, heart heavy with the knowledge that Misha could end everything right here if he so chose to, despite their fervor in the hall prior. “I will respect it.”
Misha nods, and together they enter back into the fray of tension that errs towards the side of friendly fire than all out war. The two leaders pause in their gentle sniping, focusing on them.
Jing Yuan smiles knowingly, but his voice is annoyingly curious as he asks, “Have you two come to a decision? Is this something you are able to carry out?”
Misha glances sideways at him, his smile shy as he tangles his petite fingers around his. “We’ve decided to give this a try.”
Sunday sighs, trying his best to look parentally disappointed, but he can’t stop the soft smile on his face. “It seems we’ve lost another one to you, General.”
“Please, call me Jing Yuan. We are going to be Family, after all. And dare I claim it is us who have lost to you.” The general leans back and smiles. “My strongest men, able to fight their desires for all those who flaunt themselves in front of them, and here they are, weak to your sons.”
“Well, if rumors are to be correct, it was Dan Heng who approached Caelus after he became enraptured by how many cucumber sandwiches he could shove in his mouth. I would not call that strong…in fact, I would get him checked out mentally.”
“Dan Heng has always had curious tastes,” the general acquiesces with a laugh. “But he knows a gem when he sees one, even when it has a mouth full of cucumber sandwiches.” Jing Yuan stands with a stretch, posture lazy even if Yanqing knows that to be false. “To celebrate our good fortune, why not partake in an indulgent feast, Master Sunday?”
The older man helps the Halovian to his feet, and Sunday is quick to fall back to hiding his fangs with his lips as he smiles pleasantly.
“As long as it is on your dime, lead the way. But I insist you remove your hand from my waist before you lose it.”
Jing Yuan’s laughter and removal of said hand follow them out the door, and Yanqing offers his hand to Misha to take.
~*~
In spite of their arousing first time in the hallway, everything that comes after is very innocent and slow-paced. It’s all picnic lunch dates under the weeping willow, where he is allowed to lay against plush thighs and fall asleep while Misha reads to him from a collection of his favorite stories. Or brisk morning walks around the Xianzhou, Misha feeding the ducks and stopping to pet the crowd of Ditings that follow them adoringly.
Annoyingly enough, they gain Caelus and Dan Heng as chaperones, which is more of a curse than a blessing, because they are able to keep their hands off each other long enough to tease them.
Caelus, with his cheek on Dan Heng’s shoulder as they stroll behind them in the garden, remarks loudly, “They’re quite cute together.”
His lover hums in agreement, voice soft as he replies, “How blessed my Family is to receive two beautiful men from the Watchmaker Family as our intendeds.”
“Like you hadn’t wanted to bend me over the first time you formally met me.”
“…given your age—”
“You would’ve stolen me, don’t lie,” Caelus teases. “The barrier of my youth wouldn’t have stopped you if you had less restraint.”
And Yanqing is horrified at this conversation, because there’s a churning of heat and guilt in his stomach, because he would have done it too had their Families not been on kind terms. Just stolen away the beautiful young man that walks beside him now, unknowing of his dark thoughts, regardless of his personal feelings. He knows he is a by the book type of man, and he would never do anything to cause harm or distress to Misha…but if it had come to push to shove, two Families pitted against each other, he could see himself sliding through the shadows of Misha's room, gathering the sleeping beauty in his arms and whisking him away.
Except he is in the presence of Dan Heng, a man who could see more than what was at surface level. So when he feels those almost serpentine eyes settle on him, they are knowing.
“Yes,” the older man agrees, winding his arm around Caelus' waist and pulling him closer. “But I wouldn’t be the only one.”
Yanqing does not return the look.
At night, however, the fantasies hook their wicked claws into his weak mind.
Of cloth that is easily torn away, gossamer silk adorning a plush body that tries to hide from him with clenched thighs and crossed arms. But he is wicked in his desire, feels no remorse or regret as he pulls the weaker limbs apart and spreads them wide to fit himself into the gap he has carved for himself. The mouth under his tastes of the sweetness of surrender and the saltiness of tears, pleas and begging lost in the crescendo of madness that sinks deep into his skin.
He is a barbarian with the skin of a warrior, which he is quick to shed so that he can press skin to skin to the young lover beneath him. It’s wild with abandon and a corked up bottle of repressed passion that is shaken to the point of explosion, and it’s hot, it’s perfect, it’s—
—not him.
He awakens to the view of the ceiling in his borrowed room at the Watchmaker manor.
His breath comes to him unevenly, chest rising frantic and quick, the adrenaline in his veins churning without a place to go. It burns him now, his cock hard and aching as he puts his head in his hands and tries to breath his body into compliance. He does not touch himself despite the desperation that he can taste in his throat. It felt wrong to complete the action in a place that was not his own, not when the lover he so desperately wants is mere doors away and unknowing of his thoughts.
Hoping to clear it from his system, he rises from bed, dresses, and makes his way out to the garden for a reprieve.
But who should be there but the tormentor with soft hair and wide eyes, sitting under the weeping willow as the darkness of the early morning bleeds into reds and purples as the sun starts to rise on the horizon. Misha is a vision in his pale dressing gown, a beacon of light in the dimness of the dawn. He is a fire that beckons him closer, and he doesn’t fear the flames burning his wings as he stops a bit away and calls out.
“Can’t sleep?”
Misha does not jump nor startle as he had anticipated. The young man casts a look out of the corner of his eye towards him, somehow looking far older than his eighteen years. There was weight in that gaze, something that peeled back the layers and looked deep inside to see what made him tick.
It lasted only a moment, the illusion of maturity fading away as Misha turned fully towards him with a smile and a gesture to join him.
Yanqing shakes off the chill he feels travelling down his spine and takes a seat.
“There’s a lot on my mind,” Misha answers, settling his fair hair against his shoulder and nuzzling it. “I like to come out here and think.”
The pocket watch in his pale hands chimes, and Yanqing looks curiously down at it. “And what is that for?”
“It keeps me company,” Misha answers simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve always had an affinity for clocks and fixing them, but this one is…precious.”
There’s an inscription on the inside lid that Misha shows him, faded with age and worn from tender fingers that have touched over the engraved words thousands of times.
Sleep, my lamb
And awaken to a bright morning
There’s a string of roman numerals at the bottom, and Yanqing is knowledgeable enough to know it predates all of their births.
“Is this…Mikhail’s watch?”
Misha nods, eyes unmoving from the remnant of the Watchmaker Family. “Grandfather left it to me. When I put it close to my ear,” and here Misha closes his eyes and puts it tenderly against his ear, “I like to pretend it’s his heart that beats.”
When his eyes open, they’re filled with tears.
“It never gets easier, missing him,” Misha admits, staring down at the watch. “Others say time heals all, but my clock must be broken, because even after all these years I still hurt.” He presses the watch to his chest, cheeks wet. “I loved him. I was born for him.”
“He was a good man from what the general has told me. I didn’t know him personally.”
Misha sniffs. “A good man, right? Is there such a thing when you live a life like ours?”
“He helped raise you, right? Then he must have been a good man.”
As good as a man could be embroiled in their world, but Yanqing digresses. The best men he has ever known all came from Families, and the general himself topped the list despite the violence in their history and the bloodlust in their veins. Yet most people society looked at as trash or bad were people who he had grown up with – prostitutes, drug dealers, Family members who carried guns and would shoot someone between the eyes at a few paces. Being a civilian didn’t necessarily automatically give them a stamp of goodness, and he had seen too many instances where men and women would be violent towards those providing services in the brothels.
So he means it when he says that Mikhail was a good man, because how else could Misha be as perfect as he was without a guiding hand?
But the young man just shakes his head and turns away.
“Would a good man clone himself?” is the whispered question, and Yanqing feels ice settle in his chest.
“What do you mean?”
When Misha looks back over, there’s a ghost in his eyes that haunts him.
“I'm…a clone of Mikhail.”
Yanqing blinks.
But he can’t stop to process it, because Misha continues. “I was cloned from grandfather. My body was supposed to be harvested of its organs and transplanted into grandfather’s body to combat his illness and his advanced age. But he loved me,” the young man tells him tearfully. “He died because he couldn’t take my life from me.”
Misha looks up, lip trembling. “I’m imperfect. I’m nothing like him, and I doubt I can lead the Watchmaker Family like he could. I won’t blame you if you want to rescind your notice of intention, knowing what you do now about me. That I’m an abomination.”
He goes to pull away, tears like lost stars upon his cheeks, but Yanqing is too quick, grabbing his arms and pulling him into his chest.
“That doesn’t matter!” he claims, because it doesn’t, even if he still hasn’t fully comprehended it. “You’re you, and I love you!”
“And what am I?” Misha challenges. “I’m the ghost of a dead man! I'll grow up in his image with none of his intelligence and skill in leading the Family! I wish I had died with him!”
Anger is not a common companion in Yanqing's life. He had tussle with frustrated and ran alongside disappointment, but anger was a distant acquaintance he hadn’t felt since his younger years in the whorehouse. Back when he was quick to defend many of the brothers and sisters who took care of him from cruel patrons, running in blind and limping back beaten but victorious.
He feels the lick of it now as he grabs the frail shoulders, holding back the urge to give the beautiful creature a harsh shake.
Voice a low, dominating growl, he says, “You are Misha of the Watchmaker Family, heir to a legacy. You will never be Mikhail, that is correct, because even if you share the same cells, you are who you are based on your life experiences. You are Misha, and I love you for you and not for who you could be.”
The kiss is slow and worshipful, and he drinks down the soft sighs and tastes the salty tears that still leak from wet eyes. Pressed tight against him, Yanqing is unwilling to let Misha go even the scantest inch away from his body. He wants nothing between them, not even clothes, not even air to breathe. And Misha clings to him, desperate and lonely, the curse of his secret now Yanqing’s to bear.
He pulls away, shuffling them so that Misha lays pressed against his chest.
“Let’s go somewhere no one knows us,” he whispers against Misha’s hair. “Without the eyes of our Families watching every step we take. No expectation to perform, but to just be us. Let me understand you. Let me see your heart unfold for me.”
~*~
Yanqing doesn’t know how, but they somehow make it out of the city without a dramatic pursuit.
(Honestly, he thinks they were allowed to leave by the grace of their guardians, who are probably sitting back and watching this like some dramatic play. He has no doubt it’s under the grace of his own particular father figure that has helped orchestrate their quiet escape.)
He takes the gift he is given and checks in to a hot spring hotel hours away, where the chill in the air is a precursor to snow. Misha huddles against his side for warmth, nose and cheeks pink, hands gripping onto his arm as he looks around curiously. When the hotel proprietress gives them a key and wishes them a good stay, Yanqing can only give her a tight smile and quick nod as he herds his precious treasure down the hall.
The room is spacious and traditional, all sleek wood and sliding paper doors that lead out to a private hot springs for their use. The chill of impending winter is in the air, the smell of burning wood logs and the slight sulfuric scent from the water mingling into something familiar.
Yanqing wastes no time in searching the room for bugs or listening devices, an inherent habit that has him on his hands and knees and he scours each inch of the lovely room.
“Um, what are you doing?”
Satisfied with the bathroom being clear, Yanqing pokes his head out to address the curious creature that still stands in the middle of the room. “Just making sure everything is alright.”
“By…looking for bugs in a place that had no idea we were coming?”
Shrugging, Yanqing closes the door to the bathroom and steps forward on socked feet towards his desire. “Can never be too careful.”
His short mission over, it leaves them standing there awkwardly. His fervor from before has died down, and he can feel his neck redden as he recalls his previous dominating actions. Despite his quiet acceptance, Misha had been pulled along with his insane desire to prove his love. And the young man stands there waiting, submitting easily to his whims, and it shouldn’t make Yanqing hot under the collar, but the casual display of obedience makes him want to get on his knees and worship the angel who follows him blindly.
He clears his throat instead and keeps his hands clenched by his sides.
“It’s been a long day. Why don’t you get dressed in the yukata provided and I’ll have the hostess bring us dinner?”
Still silent, Misha nods, and Yanqing feels his heart fall to his feet as he leaves the room in search of the hostess. No doubt Misha feels an obligation to submit to inane desires, and Yanqing will not allow the beautiful creature to take something he doesn’t want.
With food squared away with the hostess, he walks back on numb feet to their room. The door slides open, and Yanqing walks in with his mouth already falling open to apologize, to tell Misha he is not obligated to submit to him—
—and he has to stop, blink, and close his mouth lest his tongue falls from his head.
Misha is splayed out on the prepared futons, a slim hand pressed between trembling thighs, the yukata tight around his waist but the fabric curtaining pale legs.
“Yanqing,” spit-wet lips call his name, white teeth biting into a plush lower lips as the hand twists around the cute little cock, “I need you.”
All the previous thoughts of begging for forgiveness fall right out of his head. He stalks forward as he pulls out his phone and quickly dials the front desk, biting out something along the lines to cancel their food, but he can’t be sure he even speaks a human language as he hangs up and tosses it aside, empty hands tearing at his jacket and his shirt as he prowls over the beautiful creature.
Misha automatically presses his hands to Yanqing’s chest, spreading his fingers and trailing over defined muscle and golden-blonde hairs that were so fair you couldn’t even see them. Mouths engage, hot and wet, teeth and tongue that bite and nibble before there is the soothing of a wet muscle to lick over them.
Under him, Misha is an unbending flower that blooms under his touch. Red and pink spreads where his mouth touches, marks that will fade in time, but the memory of them will linger forever. Yanqing brings his left hand to his mouth to press a kiss to his ring finger. The action is soft and gentle, but when he levels his eyes through the silver of his lashes, his gazes cuts deep down at the his lover.
“Spread your legs for me, bǎo bèi.”
Misha nods, the yukata a curtain that falls to the sides to expose the center stage of his body, where his pale thighs frame an aching cock and pink entrance. Beautiful in a way a work of art is, untouchable and perfect, molded by an artist’s hands.
Now it’s Yanqing’s hands that touch, that rove over soft flesh as he sets them over his shoulders as his mouth licks and kisses the petite cock that strains upwards from pale curls. The body was indecent, all soft curves and tender skin, a siren song to his weak mind as he swallows Misha down his throat. The slim body jerks and twitches, but Yanqing easily holds it down as he goes deeper, pressing his nose down into the pale curls at the base of Misha’s cock.
While Misha is lost in pleasure, Yanqing slips his coated fingers between his cheeks and presses against the tight furl there. A virgin, he thinks, and is gentle in the first initial penetration of his finger. His young lover bites his swollen lips, hazed eyes looking up at him tearfully. Kissing a knee soothingly, he takes his time in sliding his finger in and out before adding the second one. Misha gasps and arches, his tight body like molten lava around his fingers as it tightens further.
The sounds spur him only, but instead of fast and hasty, it makes him slow down to the point of almost going backwards. It’s a sweet torture, and Misha is quick to cry out his displeasure, but Yanqing shushes him sweetly as he leans up to kiss the pink mouth. It melts under him, cotton candy sweet, a rush of adrenaline in his veins that makes him feel lightheaded as he teases his delicate lover.
Thin strands of lube puddle down to stain the futon, but Yanqing is uncaring of it as his mouth descends on the bobbing erection. He is attentive to how Misha reacts, sucking gently when he feels the body melt, pulls back when he feels it tense. Always toeing the edge of too much, a dance that leave Misha held over the edge as Yanqing dips him over the point of no return.
When he feels his lover is suitable soft and stretched, Yanqing pulls back to look down at the mess he has made, licking his lips as he sees the red entrance cling to his fingers as he slowly slides them out. There is a moment where he wants to bully them back in, to press unerringly against the prostate and make Misha come.
But no. When his angel comes, it will be with him.
Yanqing fits himself between the spread of the beautiful thighs, the tip of his cock rubbing over the hungry entrance. The slide is slow and easy, but Misha’s digs one set of nails into his shoulder and another up into his hair, pulling his ponytail from its hold and letting the golden strands of his hair spill over his shoulders. Despite the pull and heat of the body, Yanqing does not sink in completely. He waits for Misha to adjust, kissing away his tears and licking over his mouth in comfort as the body softens for him.
“Darling,” Misha hiccups, flexing his hips to take more in. “I’m ready.”
Framing Misha’s head with his forearms, Yanqing leans down to kiss him. The sweetness does not last long, turning molten and hot as he starts to fuck back into the body underneath him in earnest. The sounds Misha produces is a symphony of more and faster and please please please. Yanqing listens, his inherent weakness exposed as he follows the demands to the best of his ability.
The harsh slaps of their skin echo in the room, adding to the bouquet of sounds that fall from honeyed lips. From them drips roses, carnations, marigolds, and forget-me-nots, filling up his chest as he consumes them.
Between the scant space between their mouths, they come back to the edge, and with hands grasped tightly together, they tumble over the edge.
In the aftermath, Yanqing feels oddly alive. He lays there, staring at the ceiling, Misha pressed against his side so tightly he can feel the wetness of his thighs from where passion had been spilled, his hand woven through the pale hair as it rests on his shoulder. He is a livewire of energy, and he bites his lip as Misha accidentally brushes his still swollen manhood with his knee.
The body pressed against his pauses, and in the minute that follows neither of them move. And just when Yanqing thinks he is in the clear, that they will just lay there and ignore the elephant in the room, he is proven wrong when a small hand reaches down to encircle his cock gently.
Yanqing hiccups and jerks in surprise. It just further pushes his cock into the warm hands of his lover, who looks up at him and bites his lip.
“Do you remember…that day in the garden with Caelus and Dan Heng when they were our chaperones? How my brother seemed interested in the idea of being stolen away?” Soft lips press to the underside of his jaw. The teeth that follow in a gentle nip make his entrapped cock twitch. “Can you do that to me?”
Whatever remaining structure in Yanqing’s mind crumbles into the foundation at the request. “Do…what?”
Misha bites his lip, looking away as he flushes a pretty pink. “Take me like a trophy…?”
Blood rushes down south quickly, leaving him dizzy and painfully aroused as the words settle in his brain. “Like…I captured you?”
His lover nods, hiding his blushing face in the slope of his neck. “I like the idea of…you wanting me so much you’ll do anything to have me.”
It should not make the beast in his chest purr.
It should not invoke dark images of pulling the resisting figure to his chest and capturing his mouth in a fierce kiss.
It should not make his cock harden further in anticipation as he thinks of tearing off the clothes Misha wears (those fucking shorts blink by his vision quickly) and holding him down as he pounds into the mewling body that can’t decide if it likes it or not.
There are so many ‘should nots’, but he can’t hear them over the hungry beast in his ear that tells him to consume.
And Misha – beautiful, sweet, innocent Misha – blinks questioning up at him, but there is nothing he can do under the strength of Yanqing as he is pushed down. His brittle bones and frail body are his to enjoy as he sets his teeth to delicate skin and bites down. Misha whines, body arching up and his beautiful cock jerking up to grind against Yanqing’s stomach.
It’s ridiculously easy to turn the beautiful creature around so that Yanqing can grind rough and hard against the pert backside, sneaking a hand down between trembling thighs and stroking at the cock that hangs heavy and wet between them. The body under his is so much smaller he can wrap his hands around the petite waist and have his fingers meet, and that does something to him that feels so primal that he almost wants to growl.
He holds back the beast long enough to plant biting kisses down the prominent knobs of the spine before him as he teases the swollen entrance with the tip of his cock. It kisses back in wanton suckling, and it easily accepts him as he sinks inside with a shallow thrust.
Misha cries out, but there is no pain in the sound. His body is accepting of the rough intrusion, welcoming him back in with ease that belies the fantasy that plays through his mind. Like a beast, Yanqing bears down with sharp snaps of his hips, pulling from his young lover sounds that threaten to drown him as the siren’s song crescendos. On this sea of lust he is but a sole sailor, his oar lost and his boat full of holes, but the depths of the water welcome him as he starts to go under.
He gladly dips his head under the surface and stops breathing as water fills his lungs.
Hands grip at his wrists from where his hands are planted on either side of Misha’s head, nails digging in for an anchor as the slight body braces for each harsh smack against the pert backside that reddens from the abuse.
“Yanqing,” the angel under him whimpers. “Tell me you want me.”
Unable to not give in, Yanqing lowers himself enough to brush his lips against the sweaty nape, his long hair cascading over his shoulder to brush against the flushed skin.
“I was so desperate to have you,” he starts quietly, at odds with the rough smacking of his hips against Misha’s ass. “I was always taught to be a gentleman, but I would kill others to have you. It’s why I sent my notice of intention the day you turned eighteen, because the thought of you even being tempted by someone else…I don’t think it would end well.”
A whimper fans the flames of his lust, and the next thrust sends the sound into a wail.
Maybe there should be a thought for their potential neighbors, or even for the staff, but Yanqing doesn’t care about them right now. All he cares about is Misha, cares about his health and feelings, and wants to take care of him. The beast he has held back for all these years is in charge as it bites into the nape of the thin neck, there in his fingers as he bruises the pale flesh like a bruised peach.
“I love you,” he admits softly, and he thinks he hears a clock chime somewhere in the distance.
~*~
The glow of the moonlight is the only thing that allows Misha to stare down at his lover and trace the curves of his sweet face with his eyes. Pale wheat-colored hair spills like satin across the pillows, highlighting the bits of silver threaded through.
To be wanted by a man so beautiful…Misha feels undeserving.
He places a hand over his chest, right where his clockwork heart ticks.
A clone.
A being whose sole purpose had been to grow old enough to harvest his organs.
Yet here he sits, a lover at his side and the proof of their passion painting his thighs as it leaks from him. A lover that wants him for no other reason than to have him. No interest in his Family legacy, no secrets hidden in dark gazes.
The clock that beats beneath the thin skin of his chest skips a tick.
He had grown up listening to the stories of passionate love and the addiction of another's skin. And while Gallagher might’ve been a bit heavy handed and unsubtle, Sunday had woven him tales of something purer. Tales of feeling your heart beat quickly in your chest at first sight, sweaty palms and the sensation of ants crawling through your veins. Of the loss of breath when hands grasp each other for the first time, the vertigo when you realize the strength in the arms that hold you. How you ascend to another plane of existence entirely when it came time to join your bodies, racketed up by passion and love.
“And,” Sunday had said to him, a smile on his face as he looked over to where Gallagher was seated behind his desk, “how you can see yourself next to them for the rest of your lives. If you can’t imagine that, then it’s not worth pursuing.”
He was a false boy with a makeshift heart made of spare parts – but he wanted time to stop and leave them frozen in the forever that was this moment. To remain in this room and make love until the sun turned to dust and the stars in the sky blinked out. The world was filled with dangers, and he didn’t want Yanqing to face them on his behalf.
It’s with that thought he slinks out of the room, yukata sloppily tied at his waist as he wanders the shadow filled halls of the inn. The calls of the clocks guided him forth, chittering in his ear of the dark deeds that were to take place, spilling forth the secrets of others they had heard.
The loudest of them all, an antique grandfather clock, boomed with the witching hour.
Misha, it says to him.
“Grandfather,” he whispers back as he walks by.
My little lamb. When morning comes, all will be well.
The ticking of his heart repeats the message as he slides open a door, and his smile is beatific as he levels it at the startled occupants. Among the twelve or so people, he can recognize the owner of the inn, snapshots of his face and Yanqing’s along with their general information spread out among the circle.
“Good evening,” he greets, voice light as he enters and slides the door closed behind him.
All the clocks stop ticking.
~*~
Yanqing wakes to a gentle warmth, the rays of the sun cutting through the early morning gloom to kiss his cheeks. His head is filled with cotton, an unusual thing he doesn’t often experience, and he blinks lazily up at the ceiling in an attempt to wait it out. The usual alertness is dulled by the feeling of safety, something that hasn’t been part of his daily routine in years despite the high walls of the Xianzhou and the effort it would take to break through the front gates.
There had been enough odd attempts at parachuting down to keep him on standby at all times.
Now, though, he is slow to rise from the comfort of the warm futon. The only thing that can’t keep him down for longer is the fact there is not a warm body next to him in the form of his lover. Misha is gone, the sheets cold when Yanqing passes a hand over them in search of a hint of how long the young man had been gone.
He emerges from the cocoon and dons his unworn yukata, drawn towards where the sliding doors that lead out to their private hot springs are cracked open a scant inch, the sounds of dripping water and plentiful sighs float past. The wood and rice paper door slides open silently, and behind their protection he sees the most beautiful sight.
In the dawn’s greeting, the newborn rays of light catch on the strands of pale hair and across the droplets of water that drip down a slim back. Yanqing follows the slope down to the water’s surface that does little to hide the body that is submerged under it.
“Enjoying your bath?”
Once more Misha does not startle, but instead turns to level him with a soft smile. In the illusion of the morning, the water is dyed pink around the pale body, but he can’t focus on it when Misha gestures for him to join. He is weak to the sight of the beautiful body that waits for him as he drops his robe where he stands and steps down into the hot water. Misha is quick to glide over and press his warm and wet body against his as the young man greets him with a gentle kiss to his mouth.
Misha hums in agreement to the previous question, laying his pale head upon his shoulder as they turn to face the rising sun.
The silence is comforting as they sit together. It’s only broken by the sounds of the water as it circulates around them, and the soft sighs of Misha. And after a moment, it’s Misha himself who breaks the calm around them.
“There were no other notices of intention,” the young man reveals as he presses a light kiss to Yanqing’s shoulder. “Yours was the only one.”
Yanqing finds that hard to believe, but he remains quiet as Misha tilts his face up to look at him.
“I think there’s too much fear towards my family for many to come forth to try to get to know me. I’ve always been in the shadows for my own protection, and with a brother like Caelus that glows brighter than anyone, and with both my parents who are so beautiful, not many were looking at me. Except you. You saw me even when I was hiding.”
His kiss is soft and devastating in its yearning.
“Thank you, for loving me despite my abnormal birth.”
Misha straddles his lap, grinding down against his rapidly filling cock. The smile he receives is tinted with shadows as pale bangs fall over bright eyes.
“Yanqing,” he says softly as he leans forward, brushing a gossamer kiss across his lover’s lips, “make love to me?”
Weak to the submissiveness request, Yanqing winds his arms around his anchor and slowly descends under the water.
~*~
“I almost feel bad for the Xianzhou kid,” Gallagher says out of the blue, and Sunday pauses from where he is going over financial reports to quirk a pale brow up at him.
“And what brings on this sudden burst of empathy?”
The older man shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t think he really knows what he’s signing up for.”
“And that is the purpose of this trial period,” Sunday reminds him. “But surely you don’t think a high-ranking member of the Xianzhou Triad would turn tail and run, do you?”
“When faced with all the secrets that Misha and the Watchmaker Family hide?” Gallagher snorts. “A smart man would run.”
“But a strong man would stay.” Sunday slides over to him, climbing into his lap. “I much prefer the strong over the smart.”
Hands settle lightly against his waist, but Sunday can feel the possessiveness as fingers curl through his belt hoops.
A low rumble vibrates through Gallagher's chest. “Is that how you see me? Strong?”
Winding his fingers through the long ends of Gallagher's hair, Sunday tightens his fingers and pulls the head back to expose the softness of the neck. “Certainly not smart,” he teases, grip growing tighter on Gallagher’s hair as the hands on his waist try to push him down into a dirty grind. “I fear the general's ward might be a bit of both.”
“Ya think he might be consumed?”
Thin lips spread to show off sharp teeth, a thick tongue swiping over the hungry fangs, and Sunday desperately wants them in his neck.
“I think both are likely to be consumed by each other in their need to protect each other. There is nothing to fear about Misha’s future.” Giving into the urge, Sunday kisses the snarling mouth. “A clone of a clone. It’ll end with Misha.”
“Our baby is all grown up.” Sunday yelps as Gallagher stands, clinging desperately as the whiskered man chuckles, gravel in his throat as he starts to walk over to the couch. “I’m feeling a bit lonely. How about we get to work on having more kids, mm?”
Sunday drops inelegantly to the seat, and he glowers up through his fringe at the man above him who merely grins and starts to undo his sloppy tie and strip off his shirt. His eyes trace over the valley of rigid abs and the dusting of dark hair interspersed with silver that trailed down his lower torso. The beast he calls his prowls over him, hips swinging temptingly as they settle down to press against his.
Breath hitching, Sunday can help but hiss out, “Want me pregnant and barefoot?”
“Tempting. Little Halovian children with my hair and your eyes,” Gallagher muses, the jut of his hard cock, still trapped in his trousers, grinding against his own. “But maybe I just want to fill you up so much you’ll taste it in your throat.”
Belts come undone, zippers purring as they’re pulled down.
Sunday lets his lover fuck the demons out of his head, can taste it in his throat just like the beast of a man had promised…but the one thing he couldn’t shake form his mind was the idea of little Halovian children with brown hair and sunset eyes.